


you can take the future (even if you fail)

by seeingrightly



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Newton Geiszler Recovery Arc, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: “Hey, Dad,” he says when he hears the phone pick up, because his dad often gets distracted and doesn’t say anything.“Newt, my boy!” his dad replies, like it’s a surprise, like he doesn’t have caller ID. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I missed it, you know.”It’s just dad stuff, the kind of thing he’d say no matter how recently he talked to Newt, the kind of thing he’s been saying for decades, but Newt still needs to close his eyes for a long moment to get them to stop watering. He clears his throat, holding the phone away from his face.“Yeah, yeah, only a man who also sounds just like this could miss hearing it,” Newt replies routinely, before he continues, more muted, “I know we just talked the other day, but I missed you too, Dad.”





	you can take the future (even if you fail)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah1281](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/gifts).



> this fic took me one billion years to write. it was very difficult to get through. i hope you like it.
> 
> [sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/pseuds/Sarah1281) requested newt seeing his dad and uncle for the first time about a year after uprising
> 
> title is from abba's "i have a dream"

 

 

 

It’s quiet in the apartment when Newt wakes up. It still makes him nervous, sometimes, but this morning it doesn’t, because the cat is sleeping on his foot. The precursors would never have allowed him a pet. He stretches and rolls around a bit in the bed. It’s smaller than the one he used to have and still warm on Hermann’s side. Newt presses his face into Hermann’s pillow and breathes for a minute before he gets up.

He stops in the bathroom and then makes his way into the kitchen. Hermann’s standing at the back window, which is cracked open, the cat now at his feet. He holds an arm out when he hears Newt, and Newt curls under it, leaning into his side. There’s some noise after all, out here, the sounds of cars driving past, occasionally honking, and some birds and people chattering here and there. It’s not a busy part of the city. They’d needed to move somewhere with reliable public transportation, but Newt hadn’t wanted to move anywhere bustling either. Hermann found them a good medium; of course he did.

“What would you like to do today, my love?” Hermann asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

Newt rubs his cheek against Hermann’s shoulder. He has to remind himself frequently to try not to feel guilty about everything Hermann does for him, how much he has to focus on Newt. It’s gotten easier since they moved to Brighton, since Hermann started teaching. Since Newt started feeling like he doesn’t  _ require _ everything Hermann does for him, and has been able to ease some of his responsibility.

“I’ll probably head to the beach at some point,” Newt says. “We can go after you get home if you wanna come. And I’m gonna talk to my dad.”

Hermann hums, pressing his mouth to the top of Newt’s head.

“That all sounds very nice,” he says. “I’ll certainly go with you, but I won’t mind if you get restless and head there early. Just let me know this time, hm?”

He smiles as he says it, and it reaches his eyes; surely he’s thinking about how characteristic it was of Newt to forget to tell him, rather than about the panic it caused him to come home to an empty apartment and no note. If he’s not thinking about that, Newt won’t cause him to. Instead of answering, he leans up to press a kiss to Hermann’s jaw, then his cheek, then his mouth, chaste but firm.

“Let me make you some breakfast,” he says.

Being academics and then part of the PPDC did not exactly prepare either of them for living true adult lives, nor did the way Newt spent the last decade of his life. Neither one of them drives or cooks, and it feels silly to try to learn now, at this age, especially when Newt has always been prone to giving up on the things that don’t come exceptionally easily to him. He thinks, though, that that is part of the appeal of struggling to time the cooking process correctly, of burning nearly everything he makes and getting to throw it out and order takeout or eat cereal at the counter elbow to elbow with Hermann. How can Newt not embrace failure now, after the way his life has turned out? How can he not spend his days taking risks that are wholly safe and met with laughter?

Bacon is one of the few things Newt is good at cooking, maybe because it’s such a sensory experience; it’s hard to be distracted from the crackling sound and easy to notice when the strong scent shifts toward burning. Scrambled eggs, too, are not particularly difficult, and Newt relishes the benevolently destructive process of making them. Hermann doesn’t yet mind eating this one meal so frequently. Newt loves him.

While Newt cooks, Hermann sits at the kitchen table. The cat hops onto his lap, and he picks up a tablet and puts on his glasses, but mostly he watches Newt, a small, contented smile on his face. It used to unsettle Newt, to think that whatever Hermann was thinking about him was so different from how Newt was thinking about himself. These days it’s more of a reassurance than anything, because Newt knows his own perceptions of himself are fallible too, are not absolute, and they can be wrong about him together, albeit in opposite directions.

It’s quick work at this point, this particular meal, and soon Newt is sitting down across from Hermann with two plates. A moment later he hops back up when he realizes they don’t have anything to drink. Hermann tuts quietly, a sound which years ago would have been stern and annoyed and impatient, but now it means he doesn’t want Newt to worry about whatever he’s worrying about. It means that things aren’t urgent, that Newt is safe.

“Thank you, darling,” Hermann says as he accepts his glass of orange juice, his tone gently chiding. 

When Newt sits again, at the chair diagonal to his, Hermann reaches out to cup his cheek for a long moment, his expression softening the longer he looks at Newt.

“Always so determined to get it right,” he says fondly. “One day you’re going to trip over yourself speeding around the kitchen and stab yourself or set something on fire, my dear.”

“Well, as long as it’s not the cat,” Newt says, and Hermann lets out an agreeable hum as he removes his hand and begins to eat. “I had a weird dream last night. Normal weird, not bad weird.”

Hermann gestures for Newt to continue, periodically grabbing Newt’s hand out of the air as he gestures with his fork and moving it back toward his plate so he remembers to eat as he speaks. The dream is not all that interesting. Hermann listens to every word. He always would have, but in the past he’d have feigned disinterest. It’s helpful to remember how far back Hermann’s care for him extends, that it wasn’t born of what happened to Newt in any way.

“What about you?” Newt asks eventually. “You have any dreams last night?”

“Not that I recall,” Hermann says. “Hand me your plate.”

Newt does, surprised to find that it’s nearly empty, and that it’s time for Hermann to get ready for work. He’ll only be gone for a few hours, and they’ve got all the time in the world now, on paper, but Newt still feels panicked sometimes at the idea of Hermann leaving. All the time in the world now can’t measure up to the time that was taken from them and how it was taken.

Hermann always knows what kind of quiet settles over Newt when it happens. After he rinses their plates and leaves them in the sink, he comes back to the table and rests his cane against it. His hands find Newt’s shoulders, and then he leans down to press a long kiss to the top of Newt’s head. Newt wraps his fingers around Hermann’s wrists, fighting to keep his grip loose.

“Do you want to come with me today?” Hermann asks, his tone not betraying any worry yet.

“No,” Newt says after a moment. “No, I was going to call my dad anyway. I’ll call him when you leave.”

“Alright,” Hermann says, running his fingers through Newt’s hair for a few moments before he steps away, and Newt is able to let him.

Rather than linger while Hermann gets ready, Newt finds the cat and brings her out onto the patio in his arms. She’s a lazy thing and doesn’t do more than turn her head to nose at the underside of his chin as he stands in the mild sunlight. There are things he could do, in the house, but he’d be distracted from them.

Hermann steps out onto the patio when he’s ready to leave, though he stays half in the doorway, knowing Newt will come inside as he leaves. Newt moves over to him and smiles when he reaches out to brush his knuckles along the cat’s forehead.

“See you in a bit,” Newt says, and Hermann tucks his fingers under Newt’s chin, leaning in to kiss him.

“I’ll see you soon,” he replies, his tone just shy of grave.

Newt doesn’t nudge him away, but it’s a close thing; he’s far from the only one reluctant for Hermann to go every morning. Hermann manages, though, and Newt watches him, squinting into the darker interior of their home, hearing more than seeing it as the front door shuts and locks.

Once he’s brought the cat inside, Newt washes and dries the handful of items in the sink, and then he gathers up all of the dirty laundry into the hamper, but then he doesn’t actually feel like heading down to the laundry room. Instead he tidies up the bathroom sink, the kitchen counters, the tops of their dressers, the wall unit. It’s productive and time-wasting at the same time. 

He talks to his dad and uncle often these days, but it still makes him nervous. There’s no reason to believe they don’t love him as much as they say, don’t wait eagerly for his calls still, don’t think of him almost the same as they did before. They’re gentler now, which Newt understands, but at the same time he doesn’t.

After he runs out of quick and easy ways to procrastinate, Newt grabs his phone and heads back onto the patio, shutting the door so the cat can’t get out. The patio is really just the first-floor equivalent of a balcony, small with two uncomfortable chairs and a table he always smacks his knees into, facing a back road mostly lined with the rears of other apartment buildings and parked cars. It’s just sunny enough for Newt. He thinks he’d get overwhelmed by too much nice weather.

“Hey, Dad,” he says when he hears the phone pick up, because his dad often gets distracted and doesn’t say anything.

“Newt, my boy!” his dad replies, like it’s a surprise, like he doesn’t have caller ID. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I missed it, you know.”

It’s just dad stuff, the kind of thing he’d say no matter how recently he talked to Newt, the kind of thing he’s been saying for decades, but Newt still needs to close his eyes for a long moment to get them to stop watering. He clears his throat, holding the phone away from his face.

“Yeah, yeah, only a man who also sounds just like this could miss hearing it,” Newt replies routinely, before he continues, more muted, “I know we just talked the other day, but I missed you too, Dad.”

Jacob lets out a gusty sigh, something wistful but also satisfied. It’s a moment before he speaks again, and Newt is grateful his dad doesn’t say what he surely wants to. He’s not expecting what comes instead.

“Your uncle… he’s fine, don’t worry, but he took a bit of a tumble this morning,” Jacob says with clear reluctance. “You know he’s not the best with ladders.”

“How far did he fall? What do you mean he’s fine?”

Newt can hear himself asking the questions, but from a distance. All he feels is panic.

“Newt, son, he’s okay,” Jacob says, a little too loud and urgent to be soothing. “You know Illia’s tough as nails. His tailbone, not so much, apparently, but the rest of him? A-okay.”

“His tailbone?” Newt asks, running a hand over his face and breathing deeply.

“Yeah, it’s fractured. He has to use one of those stupid pillows, you know? Complaining a lot, too, so I know it’s not that bad. He’s just bored ‘cause he can’t work. You know how us Geiszlers get when we can’t - well. You know.”

Jacob trails off sheepishly. He doesn’t have a total understanding of what Newt’s been through; so much of it is classified, and more importantly, Newt doesn’t want to upset his family more than he already had by mostly cutting off communication with them. Jacob knows he can’t work at the PPDC again even if he wanted to, and he knows that Newt hasn’t done much but recover and survive for the past year, without understanding exactly what he’s recovering from.

It helps, that Jacob forgets sometimes when they’re talking. It’s a comfort to know that he’s not always thinking about it, and that he feels like he has his son back.

“Are you two doing okay holed up together like that?” Newt asks. “Do you need help taking care of him?”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry about that, son,” Jacob says warmly. “If you want to worry about us, hope that my brother stops talking about how his life flashed before his eyes when he fell and he felt the brush of the fingertips of death. You know how he gets poetic when he wants to really annoy me.”

Newt can’t say anything in response. How many times had he come close to losing his family during those ten years without even knowing it? Even disregarding the precursors, how many near-accidents and illnesses does Newt not even know about? In just the past year, how close has he come to never seeing one of them again?

“Dad?” Newt asks, his voice grinding its way out of his throat. “Dad, can I come see you? I want to come see you.”

Jacob lets out a quiet, choked noise, taking a moment before he answers.

“Of course,” he says thickly. “Of course.”

Newt nods and lets out a harsh breath, and his dad just sits and breathes with him for a little bit.

 

Newt is shin-deep in the tide pools when he hears Hermann call his name. He’d forgotten his waders, so he’s just barefoot with his pants rolled up, his shoes in the sand near Hermann. He hadn’t brought anything except his phone; he couldn’t sit around the apartment thinking about visiting his dad or about telling Hermann about the decision to do it.

“Hey,” Newt says when he stands upright, after placing a starfish back underwater. “How was class?”

“It was fine,” Hermann says, frowning just slightly. “Where’s your towel, dear?”

“Home, I guess,” Newt replies, wanting to tell Hermann to stop worrying about him but also not wanting to lie.

Hermann stares at him. Then he holds out a hand. Newt wades over him, climbing out of the tide pool carefully before taking his hand, not wanting to risk toppling him. Hermann squeezes his hand and then releases it to cup Newt’s face.

“Grab your shoes,” is all he says after a moment, and then they walk hand-in-hand back up the beach.

They live very close to the beach, but the walk is not particularly pleasant barefoot and wet and sandy. It’s good in that it distracts Newt, which in turn calms Hermann. At the corner of their apartment, they split up, and Newt waits outside of their patio until Hermann reappears with a towel, the watering can, and a pair of ancient flip-flops. Newt washes the sand off of his feet, dries off, puts on the flip-flops, and then heads around to the front of the building. Hermann doesn’t like it when he tries to climb onto or out of the patio, mainly because he’s not good at it.

Hermann is waiting by the front door when Newt gets in, though he’s trying to look like he isn’t hovering. Newt steps close to him, and then into his embrace when it opens for him. He rests his cheek on Hermann’s shoulder.

“It’s time to visit my dad,” he says, and he can feel Hermann’s quick but subtle inhale.

“How soon would you like to go?” he asks, running his hand down Newt’s back.

“Uh, now-ish,” Newt replies. “Illia got a little injured. I’d like to help out.”

“Of course,” Hermann says softly.

He presses a kiss to Newt’s forehead. Newt can practically hear the trains of thought running through his mind: planning the trip and what to do about his class, wondering when he should ask Newt for more details about his decision and how he feels. Hermann keeps so much tucked inside; he always has, but these days it’s for different reasons. He’s mastered handing information to or asking questions of Newt at a good time, and Newt knows him well enough to read whatever emotion he’s muting to benefit Newt. It works.

“I’ll look at plane tickets,” Hermann adds after a moment, but he seems reluctant to move away.

He tucks his face against the top of Newt’s head, processing the shift, cataloguing Newt’s progress. Newt holds him while he does so, and once he feels Hermann relax slightly, he pulls away, which prompts Hermann to go get his laptop. He’s quiet and very serious as he sits down on the couch and buys the tickets. Newt leaves him to it, busying himself with watering some of the plants, but the moment Hermann sets aside his laptop, Newt crawls into his lap.

“Thank you,” he says, and Hermann kisses him.

“You’re always welcome, dear,” Hermann replies.

 

Newt sleeps through the flight with the help of some medication. His neck hurts when he wakes up, and he feels weird, but he knows it’s a good distraction from his nerves about seeing his father and uncle. He focuses on finding their luggage and arranging for a taxi, and Hermann lets him take the lead on these tasks, waits with a hand at Newt’s elbow and a look on his face that’s subdued but proud.

On the ride over, a part of Newt feels the old urge to fill the nervous silence with mindless chatter. He doesn’t act on impulses like that anymore, though, not most of the time. But Hermann will, on occasion. Newt isn’t sure yet if it’s drift bleed, or if it’s meant to distract or comfort either of them. 

Hermann asks about parts of the city they drive through, not asking about the first 25 or so years of Newt’s life directly, but clearly curious.

“I’m gonna take you to the botanical garden at the Common,” Newt says, reaching out to take his hand.

Hermann lets out a quiet, pleased sound.

“I believe your father’s already offered to take me there quite a few times,” he teases. “But I suppose I could go more than once.”

The thought of Hermann and his father going to the Common alone together pleases Newt. He thinks they’ll get along well for a number of reasons, the main one being their love for Newt, though there are plenty of others. But it’s also a relief, for a moment, to remove himself from the equation.

He’s gotten better at talking to his father and uncle, at telling them about himself, but he doesn’t know who he is now. He doesn’t know who he is to them anymore. Newt knows better than to spend all his time thinking about how things should be instead of how they are, but everything has already affected how Hermann treats him so thoroughly. And Newt thinks it might be worse to learn how an already established dynamic is changed; at least he and Hermann hadn’t been together like this before. He doesn’t know what he’s missing the way he will if things change with his dad and Illia.

Hermann knows much of this already. Newt wraps both of his hands around Hermann’s before he speaks.

“What if everything is different? I don’t know how to be with them.”

Hermann squeezes his fingers.

“You’ve figured out how to be with them over the phone,” he says. “I don’t think they’ll treat you differently in person than they have in those conversations. But even if you do feel stuck or don’t know how to respond to the things they say, or if you’re unhappy, it will be alright, my dear. You can always take a break and try again, just like on the phone. They’ll always let you come back.”

Newt feels overwhelmed for a moment, unable to identify the emotions the surge up within him. It doesn’t happen as frequently as it did when he was first freed and got the full range of his emotions back, but it does still happen often, and he pulls Hermann’s had to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it while he waits for the moment to pass and his eyes to dry. He nods, once he can, bringing Hermann’s hand back to his lap.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “Well you - explain? When it happens?”

“Of course,” Hermann says.

He doesn’t point out that they already understand, that Hermann doesn’t need to call them up to explain when Newt hangs up in the middle of a conversation anymore. Newt nods again.

It’s not a long time before they reach home. They’d lived in many different apartments over the years, after they came to America when Newt was just a few years old, and Newt’s never set foot in this one. But Newt remembers Boston and its outer neighborhoods with old crumbling houses divided up into apartments by floor, and this feels familiar to him before he’s even left the car. 

“Ready?” Hermann asks, one hand on the door handle and the other still in Newt’s.

There’s movement in the fogged window of the front door of the house. It’s his dad, not that Newt can really see him. In so many ways Newt’s not ready, but he’s here, and he chose to be here.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They meet at the trunk of the taxi, and Newt is so focused on trying to lift all of the heavier bags himself that he doesn’t notice until his dad is about a foot away, reaching for a suitcase and pushing Hermann’s hand out of his way.

“No, nope, let me,” he says, cheerful but absolute.

As he hoists the suitcase, he looks up and makes eye contact with Newt, and then he drops the suitcase, as though it’s a surprise to him somehow that Newt is here.

“Dad,” Newt says, a little concerned, and he steps forward like he’s going to catch the suitcase or his dad, but then his dad catches him, wraps him up tightly as soon as he senses Newt is going to let him.

It’s just a squeeze at first, until Newt gets his arms up and hugs back, and they lean on one another for a long moment, swaying with it slightly. Newt’s glasses are being pressed into his forehead by his dad’s shoulder. It’s warm.

There’s a noise behind him, and at the same time, Newt thinks, they realize they’ve left Hermann with the luggage after all. They break apart, bustling and not at all efficient, and with some mindless chatter and nagging they eventually make their way into the apartment. 

“Newty!” Illia yells as soon as the front door opens, and then again when he doesn’t answer right away. “Come in here, will you, boy?”

“Gimme a second,” Newt yells back, fond and exasperated and startled at how natural it feels.

Once all the luggage is situated enough in the front hall, Newt leads the way into the living room, which feels similar enough to all their past living rooms that something odd passes over him. Much of the furniture is newer but in similar colors to what Newt remembers, and many of the pictures and knick-knacks are the same but in surprising spots. Illia sits on the couch in a pair of sweatpants and a very old t-shirt, which Newt would have expected even if he wasn’t injured. His hair is long enough for a ponytail now, though he’s balding dramatically up top. He holds his arms out, like a baby demanding to be lifted.

“Hey, Uncle Illia,” Newt says, bending over to hug him.

It gets uncomfortable for his back, so Newt twists in his arms and lowers himself onto the couch too, but it makes Illia grunt in pain. Newt pulls back quickly.

“Stop it,” Illia says immediately, smacking Newt on the arm a little harder than he probably should.

It makes Newt feel great for one sharp moment. He’s not being treated like he’s breakable or already broken.

Then he turns back to the doorway, where his dad and Hermann are standing side by side. His dad’s expression is warm and content, and Hermann looks pleased but also on alert. Newt knows he needs to properly introduce them all now, knows that the moment of silence is building, that this is his job. Hermann senses something of Newt’s panic because he opens his mouth to speak, but Illia beats him.

“Well, everyone come sit down,” he says. “Come on in, Hermann.”

Jacob makes his way to the armchair, and Hermann sits down next to Newt on the couch, some space between them, which makes Newt want to laugh for a second. He sits back so that Hermann and Illia will be able to see one another past him, so that he doesn’t feel as obtrusive.

“How was the flight?” Jacob asks, polite but genuinely interested too.

Newt turns to Hermann, because he’d slept through it.

“No real issues,” Hermann says. “We got some rest.”

“That’s good,” Jacob says.

Newt knows it hasn’t been long enough to feel restless and anxious and sweaty about the state of the conversation, but that doesn’t mean he can stop himself from feeling it. Hermann looks at him for a long, focused moment, and then he places his hand on the couch between them, palm up. Newt takes it.

“Aw,” Jacob says, laughing when Newt instinctively makes a face at him.

Jacob sighs and leans back in his chair, resting his arms across his stomach, looking fondly between the two of them. He looks comfortable suddenly in a way he hadn’t a moment ago. Illia, meanwhile, opens his mouth.

“Let your old man enjoy seeing this,” he says, gesturing toward them. “He didn’t think he’d get to.”

There’s a long, awkward silence, though admittedly Newt panics less during it than he would have if it wasn’t clear that everyone else feels just as uncomfortable.

“No!” Illia says eventually. “Not like - I meant - because you were so  _ single _ , Newty, and because you never thought Hermann was gonna like you back!”

“Oh,  _ thanks _ ,” Newt manages after a second, but then he realizes he means it; the ribbing makes him feel better once he digests it. “Hey, just because Dad never saw me holding anyone’s hand doesn’t mean I wasn’t doing it elsewhere.”

“Sure it doesn’t, son,” Jacob agrees. “But you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t,” Newt agrees at the same time as Illia says, “You really weren’t.”

There’s another pause, this one less uncomfortable, but it still makes Newt nervous. There’s an easy transition here, and though Newt didn’t entirely believe him, Hermann had said Newt could turn the conversation to him whenever he felt the need to.

“Hermann did like me back though,” he says.

“Does,” Hermann corrects.

The smile on Jacob’s face in response to that is so soppy and wide that Newt has to look away from it. It makes him nervous. There’s no way Jacob is going to be that happy the entire trip; there’s no way he’s going to be happy about so many parts of Newt’s life now. Is he setting an unrealistic precedent? Giving off an impression that he’s doing better than he really is?

Newt doesn’t realize he’s rubbing his palm against the side of his leg until Illia grabs it, squeezes it, and rests it on the couch between them.

“Ever since you were tiny,” he says. “Though you always liked tugging your hair right outta your skull more. He still do that one?”

This question he directs past Newt to Hermann, leaning forward a little, though it makes him wince.

“Oh, yes,” Hermann says, though he glances at Newt like he’s trying to gage if he should redirect the topic.

“I’ve got some new ones now too,” Newt says instead, figuring they might as well edge toward what they haven’t so far, get it over with a little.

“Don’t we all,” Illia says easily, genuinely, and it frustrates Newt.

Are they going to avoid it? Even if he tries to bring it up? Are they going to act like he’s the same old Newt regardless of what he does or says? It’s not as thought he wants to talk about all of it, give them details they’re better off without. He wouldn’t know how to talk about much of it even if he did want to. But he can’t act normal either, can’t minimize himself and his experiences to keep things comfortable.

He wouldn’t have expected that of his dad or uncle, and Newt knows he doesn’t know yet if that’s what’s happening, but that knowledge can’t stop the tightness in his chest. It takes some time before he realizes the conversation is continuing on around him as he has an anxiety attack. Hermann still holds his hand, tapping evenly with his thumb in a pattern Newt can focus on breathing along to.

Everyone in this room has seen Newt have many anxiety attacks. They feel different these days, because being pushed into a corner of his own mind by panic feels like being pushed into a corner of his own mind by the precursors. But it’s familiar, too, to rest his head against Hermann’s shoulder as he comes fully back to himself, to listen to his father’s voice and slowly become able to pay attention to each word and its meaning.

At the same time, as though they both simultaneously realize Newt has come back to himself, Hermann and Jacob both turn to him and speak.

“You kids need some food, I think,” Jacob says, at the same time as Hermann asks, “Do you want to rest for a bit, to recover from our trip?”

Illia laughs, and after a moment Newt does too, just a bit. 

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah to both of those.”

“Here, you want to bring your bags into the room now?” Jacob asks, standing and moving over to them before Newt can protest.

“What room?” Newt asks, looking around like the apartment will suddenly expand in size or reveal another door.

“Well, Illia can’t stay on the couch right now otherwise it’d be his room,” Jacob says, already hauling two suitcases haphazardly across the room.

Newt stops him and grabs one, blocking his way.

“Dad, I can’t take your bed.”

“You’ll sleep better in an enclosed room, son,” Jacob says quietly. “Let me do what I still can for you these days, huh?”

“You do plenty, Dad,” Newt says, but he moves out of his way and follows him into the bedroom.

Soon their things are piled into a corner of this room instead, and Hermann sits down the edge of the bed as Jacob pulls the door closed on his way out. Hermann holds out a hand, and Newt steps between his legs, resting his hands on his shoulders.

“How are you?” Hermann asks, running his hand up Newt’s side.

Newt shrugs, and Hermann nods.

“Do you want to lie down for a bit? I can bring you whatever your father makes.”

“Just stay with me for a minute,” Newt says, sudden and sure.

He’s only ever sure of things abruptly these days, and they rarely question these moments of clarity. They curl together at the center of the bed, hands linked between them. Hermann seems tired from the trip, but Newt isn’t sure what to offer him; he needs Hermann too much while they’re here to be generous.

“Thanks,” Newt says, and Hermann smiles, an uncomplicated, truthful one.

“You’re very welcome,” he says, bringing Newt’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Do you - ”

He pauses, then frowns.

“What?” Newt asks. “You can say it.”

“I know it’s not my place, but I want to make sure you know how welcome you are here,” Hermann says carefully. “That anything that you do that feels wrong or odd or bad won’t... result in anything bad. Everything’s recoverable here, just like with me.”

Recoverable is a word Hermann’s used many times. Sometimes he says it regarding toast that isn’t too burnt to eat; sometimes he says it when Newt is worried that he’s ruined their food or their day or their quiet new life together. Hermann’s said it enough times that Newt believes, even when he’s scared, that making breakfast is a safe risk, and so is the day to day of his life with Hermann.

He’s going to have to hear it many more times before he believes that he can mess up here too without it being a real risk. But he can try to move forward as though it’s true even if he isn’t sure of it yet. He can try.

 

Newt makes it through their early dinner without panicking. He doesn’t talk too much, and the others mostly discuss their jobs, but Newt feels okay, because there’s nothing actually wrong, and he can contribute to the conversation later. Plus, Hermann keeps his hand on Newt’s knee the whole time.

Once they finish their meal, Hermann leaps to his feet to help Jacob clear the table, because he’s a kiss-ass. Newt moves to help as well, but Illia gently whacks him on the thigh once he stands.

“Help me back to the couch, will you?” he says.

Newt’s pretty sure he hadn’t needed help to get into the kitchen, but maybe he wants to talk to Newt alone, or to give Jacob and Hermann some time alone. Newt helps Illia up and grabs his cushion, keeping an arm around his back as they make their way into the living room.

“You need anything else?” Newt asks, holding Illia’s arms as he sits back down, slowly and with several grunts.

Illia looks around consideringly.

“Well,” he says after a second, “I went through all the reading materials that are in easy reach already.”

“Oh, okay,” Newt says.

He gathers up what he can find and, unsure what to do with them, he stacks them up and tucks them onto the shelf under the coffee table. Then he hunts around the living room and the two bedrooms for books and magazines that look interesting but dusty, things Illia probably hasn’t read recently, things Jacob won’t think to bring him once Newt’s gone again, like the couple of old Highlights magazines that are tucked into a box of Newt’s things that inexplicably sits underneath the fishtank. Newt piles this on top of the coffee table, as close to Illia as he can put them without encroaching on the space reserved for his feet. It’s a tall pile and Newt is satisfied with it.

“What else?” he asks, hands on his hips, determined to complete another task.

Still looking at the precarious stack of reading materials, Illia lets out a thoughtful noise.

“Could you grab me another pillow, Newty?” he asks.

When Newt hands it to him, instead of putting it behind himself, Jacob holds it up against the back of the couch next to him, aligned with the one behind his own lower back. Newt sits down and leans against it.

“Can you teach me how the DVR works?” Illia asks.

Newt does him one better, setting up all his recordings and making sure he can watch them, make new ones, and update them himself. Then he sets up the tv’s Netflix app and logs into his own account for them, and does the same with Hulu, teaching Illia how to use both. He’s not sure if it’ll all stick, and he’ll have to go through the lessons with his dad too, but it’s nice, to feel useful, to instruct someone, to accomplish something.

Once everything is set up - Hermann and Jacob still apparently doing dishes in the kitchen - Newt puts on an episode of The X-Files. Illia falls asleep a few minutes in, and Newt must follow some time later, because he wakes up with a start to Hermann leaning over him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” Newt says groggily. “What time is it?”

“Much past your bedtime back home,” Hermann replies, charitable and amused. “I know you’ve got a pillow but I worried you’d ruin your neck if I left you like this.”

“Good point,” Newt says, looking around to find his dad watching from the doorway to the kitchen. “Should I wake up Uncle Illia too?”

“Eh, he sleeps there all the time,” Jacob says. “I’ll haul him to bed later, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.”

Newt stands up slowly, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses and resting a hand on Hermann’s arm to guide him toward his dad’s room. On his way there, though, Newt stops to hug his dad, pressing his cheek tightly against his shoulder. Jacob’s arms wrap so carefully around his back that he wants to cry.

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, son.”

It’s several long moments before Newt pulls away, and Hermann is waiting patiently in the doorway when he does. They change into their pajamas quietly, and when Hermann climbs into bed it’s with a deep, satisfied sigh. Newt crawls over to rest his head on his chest. He can tell Hermann wants to ask something.

“I feel good right now,” he says.

“Good,” Hermann replies, relaxing even further with the confirmation. “Wonderful, my love.”

He falls asleep quickly after that, and Newt follows.

 

Newt wakes up first in the morning, though he can hear his dad ambling around out in the living room. He feels a little guilty about that. Next to him, Hermann is still deeply asleep, which Newt is grateful for; he needs the rest after managing most of their journey. Carefully, Newt gets out of bed and leaves the bedroom, and when he shuts the door behind him, his dad looks up from tidying everything Newt had piled onto the coffee table the night before.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says quietly, still in pajamas and barefoot just like Newt expected. “You awake yet, or just heading for the bathroom?”

“Both, probably,” Newt says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder before heading there.

When he comes back out, Jacob is tidying the bookshelf needlessly, like he’s been moving in circles for some time. He only gets like this when he’s particularly unsettled; normally he’s messy whether he’s in a bad mood or a good one. It makes Newt nervous.

“Dad?” Newt asks, moving to sit on the couch, and after a long moment, Jacob follows him.

There’s a couple of seconds of silence, and then Jacob lets out a harsh breath, and then he’s crying.

“Sorry,” he chokes out immediately. “I didn’t want to - I don’t want to put any of this on you.”

“Dad, no,” Newt says, instinctively scooting closer and wrapping his arms around him. “Come on, do you need me to remind you of everything you’ve ever said to me about feeling your feelings?”

It’s like Newt goes into autopilot, but not in a bad, dissociative way. This is something he knows how to do. He has so many years of practice at it, even if it’s been a while. His dad’s shape is a little different in his arms, but comforting Jacob feels easier than breathing does so much of the time.

After a few minutes, Jacob calms down, pulling away to wipe at his face with the inside of the collar of his t-shirt. His other hand finds the side of Newt’s head, and with red-rimmed eyes, Jacob looks at him for a long time. It makes Newt return to his body, fully in control and required to make decisions, and his lungs tighten quickly. He opens his mouth to interrupt the moment, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Dad,” he manages.

“Okay,” Jacob says, and it’s clear that he wants to help but doesn’t know how, and it’s a shame that Newt can’t help him with that.

It’s a little easier to breathe when Jacob pulls his hand away and turns to look across the living room, but the quiet and the need to choose how to fill it still presses on Newt. Then he thinks about what Hermann said, that it doesn’t matter here what he does or if he messes up. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s hard, Dad,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what to say to you. It’s so hard not knowing what to say to you.”

Jacob is still facing away from him, but Newt can tell he’s crying again. Newt is too.

“Oh, I know,” Jacob says, his voice trembling. “I want to say the right thing so badly. I don’t want to say anything that might upset you or make you feel bad, Newt, and I don’t know how to do it. But you don’t have to worry about what you say to me. Anything you’ve got, I want to hear it, son, okay? I’m just so glad to hear you again.”

Newt pulls his dad into his arms again. They’re both shaking, but Jacob more so. Newt understands why Jacob wanted to spare Newt from seeing him like this, to keep the focus on Newt, but it’s actually a relief, in a way. Of course he feels guilty for causing this pain, but Newt can also help take it away. He knows what makes Jacob feel better, how to soothe him, and more than that, he can show Jacob how much he’s improved, how well he’s doing. This is a problem Newt can solve. This is action he can take.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Newt says. “You and me, we’re smart guys, right? Hermann too, and Illia sometimes.”

That earns him a watery chuckle, and his dad’s arms tighten around his back.

“If you say the wrong thing or you upset me, Dad, it’s gonna be okay,” Newt says. “I love you.”

Jacob breathes in deeply and lets out a big sigh.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll work on believing that if you do too, huh?”

“Okay, yeah,” Newt agrees quietly, a little sheepish, because he hadn’t thought to reverse it.

They stay that way for a little longer, until it becomes uncomfortable for their backs. Jacob brushes at Newt’s hair for a moment.

“Why don’t you head back to bed for a little longer?” he suggests, like Newt’s little again.

“Alright,” Newt agrees easily.

He curls up in bed again next to Hermann, who hasn’t even moved since he left, and dozes for a bit. He startles when Hermann’s thumb brushes his cheek. Before Hermann can ask why he didn’t wake him if he was upset, Newt grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss his fingers, opening his eyes groggily.

“I had a good talk with my dad,” he says. “Don’t be worried.”

“I’m always worried,” Hermann responds automatically.

Newt looks at Hermann for a long moment, takes in the bags under his eyes and his graying hair and his worry lines, and for the first time he can ever remember, he doesn’t feel guilt. He feels hopeful. He feels capable. 

“Hey,” Newt says, bringing his hand to the side of Hermann’s face. “You know what? I know we’ve only been here for a little while, but I feel better than I expected.”

The pinched expression leaves Hermann’s face, to be replaced with something surprised and skeptical, like maybe he thinks Newt is exaggerating so he’ll feel better.

“I mean it,” Newt says. “Taking care of Illia and my dad feels good. I feel like I know what I’m doing, like I don’t have to question everything or hesitate.”

Hermann’s expression clears and turns soft and thoughtful. He wraps his hand around Newt’s wrist.

“That’s very good,” he says, with a little distance that Newt can place immediately.

He’s wondering how to turn this into a long-term solution, how to enable Newt to feel good like this once they’ve gone home. Newt wouldn’t be surprised if he’s considering suggesting that they move to Boston straightaway.

Lucky for him, Newt already has an idea.

“Hermann,” he says, “will you let me take care of you?”

Hermann blinks at him.

“Dearest, what - ?”

“I’m not asking because I feel responsible for how you feel,” Newt says, “or because I feel like I owe it to you because you take care of me. Hell, I’m asking selfishly. I’m asking because it’ll make me feel better. I want to spend my time thinking about you instead of about me. I want to figure out what makes you feel good and helps you destress. I want to spoil you because I haven’t gotten to do any of that yet and I spent so many years dreaming about it and now I finally can.”

The words pour out if Newt almost faster than he can speak. Now that he knows that this will make him feel good, and now that he feels capable of offering it, he can’t continue to suppress his fleeting desires, the things he’s wanted to offer but felt he couldn’t. Now he knows he has something to offer at all anymore.

It takes Hermann some moments to process what Newt says, blinking slowly and frowning. Then his mouth slides open just a little.

“You,” he says carefully. “Newton, you - ”

“Yeah?” Newt asks, a little nervous.

Hermann closes his eyes tightly and presses their foreheads together, like he’s trying his hardest to fight his way through his thought process. Newt can practically hear it, though he can’t guess what the outcome will be.

“You indescribable little man,” Hermann grinds out.

“Hey,” Newt says. “Little is a descriptor. And so is man.”

“You,” Hermann tries a final time, opening his eyes and looking right into Newt’s with certainty. “Newton, you can do whatever you wish with me, to me, or for me, for whatever reason. I want you to do whatever you think will make you feel good, do you hear me? You don’t have to ask my permission for any of this.”

“Well, of course I do,” Newt says after a heavy moment, and Hermann softens again, loses the intensity.

“Oh, yes, we’ll negotiate specifics to figure out what makes us both happiest, dearest,” Hermann says. “But all of those things that you want, I want them for you.”

“What about for you?” Newt asks, still a little nervous, and Hermann smiles and cups his jaw.

“I want it for me too,” he says. “You know I’ve never been good at focusing on myself. But I’m not opposed to you focusing on me.”

“Good,” Newt says, all of the breath in his body leaving him in one big gust. “Do you want to go to the Botanical Gardens today?”

“I’d like that very much,” Hermann says. “But you know, I don’t want you to discredit yourself. You were always planning to take me there. You make me breakfast. You tidy our home to my exacting preferences. You ask me about my day and always care about the answer and try to come up with solutions to my problems. You’ve already been taking care of me, long before you felt capable of doing it.”

“Oh,” Newt says, feeling stupid for a moment. “Guess that just means I’ll be really good at it now that I’m doing it on purpose, huh?”

Hermann smiles and leans in to kiss Newt.

“I guess so,” he says. “You’re a very talented man.”

It’s been a long time since that word’s been applied to Newt without disdain or scorn or fear. It’s been a long time since Newt’s believed it. But it feels good and right and true in this context. Taking care of people isn’t something Newt did too much of before his life changed, and he’s glad it’s the first thing that feels good to him now. And there’s a small, nervous part of him that’s excited to find out what will start to feel good next.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter at [coralbluenmbr5](https://twitter.com/coralbluenmbr5)


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